


An Unexpected Visit and Poor Self Care

by Kuronrko98



Series: Collective AUs [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Comfort, Connor is trying his best, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Platonic Cuddling, do not copy to another site, falls asleep on shoulder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 23:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuronrko98/pseuds/Kuronrko98
Summary: Connor decides to surprise his friend with a day off campus, but things don't go to plan. It's a good day, even so.





	An Unexpected Visit and Poor Self Care

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Sawyer mumbles through their cracked door. “What is it?”

“I—uh.”

I think of the memorized spiel I have prepared. Something about coincidences, tea, and an invite to a cafe I _don’t_ work at to study. I thought it would be a cool surprise to swing by and ask in person. It couldn’t be more obvious that I was wrong.

They sound awful.

I have too many adjectives and none of them are quite right. Quiet, brittle, tired, wary, none of them fit into the subtle wrongness in how their voice has shrunk. They barely have the door open enough for me to see them, only their eyes visible in the shadows. They keep their gaze downcast, head tilted slightly toward the floor, but it isn’t enough to hide the heavy bags under their eyes.

I feel like an intruder, like I’m seeing something I shouldn’t.

“I can come back if you’re busy,” is what I end up settling on. An easy out for them if they want me to go. “It’s what I get for not warning you, honestly.”

They shuffle behind the door. It opens a little more in the movement, and they flick a glance up at me. It’s pained, nervous, only serving to remind me that I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have popped up unannounced.

They open their mouth only to close it again. The silence has grown uncomfortable.

“I can come back,” I say again, softer this time.

“It’s just—” They turn their head to look behind them, and their voice turns bitter when they speak again. “It’s a mess in here. And I—you can probably tell I wouldn’t be the best company right now.”

I want to argue that, but the mere fact that they’re talking has me wary of interrupting them.

“But, you know, you came all the way up here and could have probably gotten in trouble.” They make a face and shoot me another look, this one accompanied by a ghost of a smile. “I should report you, fiend.”

“Would now be the time to mention I brought you candy?”

They hum, quiet and contemplative.

“Just—” They look behind themself again and sigh. “Sorry in advance, I guess.”

They disappear from sight and the door opens wide. I approach, though I remain against the door even after it clicks shut behind me. I’ve been in the dorms in this building before, but it feels weird being in this room. That same sense of trespassing ghosts down my back.

The musty scent of lethargy hits my nose, which does nothing for the disorientation of walking into an unfamiliar dark room. I can only make out their vague silhouette in the light of an open laptop to my left as they pick across the room.

“You can go ahead and turn the light on.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” I assure them, but I do find the light switch on the wall and flip it on. “If you don’t wanna hang out—”

With the light on, I can see what they meant. I haven’t seen dorm furniture moved in such a comfortable way before, but it _is_ a mess. A pile of _stuff_ spans from the closest bed—on which the laptop sits—until only a small path is left to get past the dresser. The second bed hides whatever might lay beyond, but the desk on the other side is just as covered in papers and debris as the other three counterish surfaces.

I don’t know what to say, so I just shut up.

Sawyer stands in loose pajamas on the other side of the second bed. On a chair. With what looks like the handle of a mop or something jammed into the tracks of the window blinds.

“They never gave us the thing,” they mutter, then shove the blinds open with a grunt of effort. A little louder, they continue. “I don’t want to not hang out. I’m also a mess, though, so if you’d rather hang out somewhere else I can get dressed.”

They shove the window open to let a breeze in, and the atmosphere of the room improves greatly. It’s cold as hell, but at least I can breathe. Something about the stiffness in the way they climb down from the chair tells me they probably don’t actually want to go anywhere.

Then again, my instincts still tell me they probably don’t want company even after being told they do. Or that they, uh, ‘don’t want to not’ have company. Which might mean the same thing but also might not.

I really can’t tell.

“How are you doing?” I ask as casually as possible. Meaning not very, but at least any and all concern I might have kept itself out of my voice.

Still, their lip curls momentarily and they shoot a dark glance to the side. It’s only a flicker, a blip before their face smooths and they just look tired again.

They don’t answer right away, but they do come back into the first half of the room and drop into the chair next to the closer desk. They drop the handle against the wall on the way, next to the other half of a small vacuum. This must be their side, then.

I look away to inspect the dresser beside me while I wait for them to gather their thoughts. Among the disorganized papers, a few boxes and pictures sit against the wall. One of them and their sister (I assume) piled on a one-person chair. A photobooth strip of them and some friends with a prom caption. A few eclectically themed knick knacks.

I almost reach for an overturned plaque, but Sawyer sighs before I can move.

“I’m not awesome,” they say, then add in a bitter breath, “Obviously.”

I glance toward them to find them with their head cradled against their arm on the back of their chair. They watch me with one eye open, so I look away.

“Wanna talk about it?”

They make an uncertain sound. “I don’t know what there is to say. My brain sucks and I get antsy when I stop writing long enough to do work, so—” They cut off with another distressed noise and I still don’t know what to say.

You take the classes and read the books, and you think you know what depression looks like. Or, whatever this is, I obviously can’t fathom what their diagnosis might be out of five minutes in their room. I’m not looking to get into clinical practice or anything. I still thought I’d wrapped my head around it. But seeing someone I care about so out of sorts it takes being observed to even turn the lights on?

I’m out of my depth.

But they opened their door and let me see them like this. I just saw them yesterday, and I never would have guessed they weren’t okay. So far, they’re acting like nothing is out of the ordinary. I am more than capable of running with that.

I step further into the room, careful not to disturb their things on the floor.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

They raise their head with a sound I’d expect from a cat. I guess that gets a question across just as well as using words, probably takes less energy.

“Something on Netflix, maybe. Like I said, I brought candy. Or maybe even the theater?” I pause and scratch my jaw out of nerves. “I’m not sure what’s playing, but, uh. You can choose. it would be my treat.”

Their face goes completely blank.

I try to figure out how to backpedal, but they cough out a laugh before I can so much as open my mouth. They flop their head back onto their arm and regard me with a half smile.

“You’re such a dork.”

I grin. “Well? What do you want to do?”

They watch me. Their usual, pleasant smile in place a bit more tired than usual, but their eyes look me over. After a few seconds, the smile disappears and they deflate a little.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know.” They avert their eyes, so I don’t think they see the face I make. They keep going before I can find my voice. “I’m fine. Or, at least, fine-adjacent.”

I am _so_ not touching that.

“Good thing that’s not what I’m doing, then.” I sling my backpack from my back onto one arm and rifle through it. “I came up to hang out with you, and that’s what I’m gonna do as long as you want me here.”

I look back up to find them staring at me again. For a beat, I’m worried they might tell that they changed their mind. They _don’t_ want me here. What I said is true, I want to be here no matter what, but the idea of leaving them here alone when they’re so obviously not okay leaves me frozen.

Then the moment passes and I throw a huge bag of Sour Patch Kids on the bed, followed by a slightly smaller bag of Kit-Kats and a variety pack of Snickers. “So? Any ideas?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Their voice is small, like I’m going to be mad even though I already said staying here would be fine. “But a movie sounds nice.”

“Sounds great,” I assure them. “I won’t have to be all embarrassed about my dramatic unloading of candy. Any idea what you wanna watch?”

They laugh a little, but they shake their head. “I don’t know what there is. I’ve been busy.” They glance at the laptop with a flicker of dread but don’t say anything else.

“Hm.” What have I been meaning to watch? Something fun is probably the best bet, something— “Oh! The new John Mulaney sketch is on Netflix now.”

“I haven’t seen John Mulaney yet,” they say automatically.

I grin. “Do you want to?”

They dart from the chair to the bed with surprising speed after how lethargic they’ve been since I got here. They settle next to their computer and gesture to me to join them. They also say something about it being okay if I step on their stuff, but I do my best not to do that.

They exit out of several tabs, all of which are full of documents I want to ask about but don’t. Within minutes, the first comedy special is up and the bag of Snickers is open. Sawyer is very specific on the order the candies are best eaten in: These, the sour candy, then the Kit-Kats. I don’t argue, though I think they have it backwards.

Every once in a while, they mutter that they’ve seen a specific joke online or burst out with ‘I _knew_ that meme was from him,’ but mostly they watch and snicker at every punchline. They have to pause the video, laughing so hard there are tears in their eyes, after two of them even though they claim to have heard them on Youtube before.

When it ends, they sound more like themself. They warn me about how how the bathroom door sticks shut when I drag myself off the bed and ask where it is. Upon my return, they command me to turn the light off so we can ‘have a more authentic movie experience.’

So I do. Which is what I blame them falling asleep during the second special on.

I don’t really notice until the Cirque du Soleil bit. We’ve had movie nights before—planned ones, obviously—it’s par the course for them to end up leaning heavily on my shoulder at some point. I didn’t notice their laughter grow softer, their comments further apart.

It’s the suicide joke that prompts me to shoot a glance their way. I’ve seen them flinch at more subtle ones than that when they’re at their best. It’s almost a relief to find their eyes closed and their breathing steady. They could probably use the rest.

I roll back the video a few minutes so they can pick it up again later and snoop through their ‘watch again.’ I adjust the computer so it’s on my lap completely and after a few minutes I settle in to watch Grey’s Anatomy until they wake up. I haven’t seen it before and it looks like they’ve watched the whole this, so I might as well.

I can recognize that it isn’t a good show. I barely know enough about medicine to know a lot of the dramatic stuff is bullshit. That doesn’t keep me from immediately growing invested, though.

Their roommate comes back during the beginning of the third episode. I hit pause before the door actually opens, and when Madi flips the light on I meet their quizzical greeting with a wave. I nod meaningfully at Sawyer.

They momentarily woke up (or not) a while ago to take over my lap to the point I had to slide the computer further away. Now they have their head pressed against my shirt so I have to check to make sure they’re still breathing, one arm around my middle and the other outstretched as if they’re reaching for something.

“They’re having a bad time.” I don’t try to keep my voice low. I was just watching TV pretty loud, so I doubt I’m gonna wake them up. “I can go if you don’t want company.”

They glance at Sawyer on their way across the room and their smile gets a little less awkward. “Can you?”

As if to prove that point, Sawyer curls tighter. Their fingers dig into my back, and I wonder what they could be dreaming about. I rest a had on their head and hope that whatever it is, it’s good.

“Maybe not,” I concede.

They laugh and busy themself with something on their side of the room. They give me an affirmative when I check that it’s okay if I keep watching. They also turn and stop me before I press play.

“Have y’all eaten?” they ask. “Like, do you know if they ate, if they’re medicated?”

I freeze with my finger on the space bar.

“Does candy count?”

Now, I don’t know Madi very well. They’ve come to the coffeehouse with Sawyer a few times and we’ve run into each other around campus. We say hello when we pass each other on the street, I give them a free coffee every once in a while, we’re both close with Sawyer and that makes us at least sort of in the area of being friends. But we aren’t very close.

That said, I’ve never seen them look more unimpressed. They grab a thin book from Sawyer’s desk and smack their leg with it.

Sawyer shoves themself back, right on their computer, with a rambling string of nonsense words. They peer around with bleary eyes and freeze when their gaze lands on me. I watch the stages of grief flicker over their face in quick succession, then they almost fall off the bed in their haste to get off of me.

Oh, shit.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry!” They cover their face when they find their balance. From their hiding place, they ask, “How long was I asleep?”

“I dunno.” How long is an episode of Grey’s Anatomy? I pull the computer back into my lap and touch the trackpad. “Little more than an hour?”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” I promise. “I didn’t have anything else to do and I got to start a new show.”

“Hey, Sawyer!” Madi interrupts in a loud, pointed tone. They purse their lips at Sawyer’s violent jump, their delayed turn to give a soft, mortified hello. “Have you eaten today?”

They hesitate.

Madi’s gaze bores into them.

“Does candy count?”

“ _Oh my god._ ” Madi presses their hands to their temples, then gestures between us. “You’re both _terrible_. Come on, Victor’s just opened. We’re going to dinner.”

“Can I just—?” Sawyer tries to sink back against the wall, but Madi makes a dissenting grunt and grabs them by the sleeve of their loose shirt to drag them off the bed. Sawyer protests, like a toddler, but they don’t actually struggle that hard.

I watch in silence while Madi monitors their search for clothes. It’s like they both forgot I was here, so I slowly close the laptop and set it aside. I wonder if this is a common occurrence, if Madi thought to ask about it.

I learn, while I dump the remaining Snickers into my backpack, that Sawyer hasn’t taken their medication since Thursday. That they don’t know when they last had a drink of water. That they haven’t eaten real food since lunch yesterday.

No wonder they were feeling like shit.

I crawl off the bed and awkwardly stand in the path between the mess and Sawyer’s dresser while they take their medication eight hours after they were supposed to and banter back and forth with Madi about how well they’re taking care of themselves. They keep accusing each other of being worse at it, but it definitely sounds like Sawyer’s losing.

I try to back toward the door when Sawyer disappears into the bathroom. “I should probably—”

Madi turns on me and makes an long-suffering, aggravated sort of huff.

“Nah, man, you’re coming too.” They pause, then shrug. “I mean, if you’re okay with that. You both gotta eat, and if you didn’t think to do it earlier I dunno if I trust you to when you leave.”

I open my mouth to defend myself, but there really isn’t anything I can say that isn’t a lie. I don’t even know what we have at the apartment, let alone what I would eat when I got back. So I keep my mouth shut. I nod, and they’re satisfied enough to turn a worried look back at the door.

“I know they don’t do this on purpose—I doubt you do either,” they add. “But jesus _fuck,_ y’all are gonna fucking die if you don’t eat.”

When Sawyer sweeps back into the room, now dressed in what they call ‘normal people clothes,’ they start another rambling apology for falling asleep on me. I try to wave it away, but it’s Madi that gets them to drop it when they tell them I sounded like I was gonna stay all night if they had stayed asleep.

I would have, too.


End file.
